The lilac calls to the monarch
With words that go unheard,
But that are truer than spoken words.
She longs to be awakened by the touch
Of his veined wings,
But closes her petals instinctively
In his presence—fearing what that
Touch would mean, fearing the
Possibility of heartbreak.
He was born to see her blossom,
To bring her blooming to fruition.
But he leaves her untouched for now,
Lest she close herself to him forever.
One day he’ll come of age for her.
One day she’ll come of age for herself—
To the flowering of her own
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